


The Nature of Death

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 21:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3333893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death looks like a mirage of lilies and cosmos flowers and the allure is too strong to be over thrown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nature of Death

Death is inevitable, unavoidable, and yet at some point or another, everybody attempts to run from it.

Death is fierce, like that rowdy dog of your neighbours that you always cross the street to avoid.

It can be bitter, much like the aunt, with three extra jaws and baskets of hanging flesh that dangle precariously from her barrel like body, who always insists on pinching your cheeks and making an infantalising and generally inaccurate comment as to how much you've grown, that you know is actually meant to antagonize your mother.

Death is sweet, like the smile of the woman on your brother's muggle tv: The one who beams constantly and points at the map with cheery cries of sunshine and sycophantic mumbles of the non-existent joys of rain.

Death is inevitable: It's predictable in it's ruthless, omnipresent nature and yet when confronted with it, it will never be what's expected. 

So really, you ought not to be taken aback at the surprise you feel, as icy hands grip your floundering body and inky water begins to spill over your face, but it's surprise you feel anyway as your wailing house elf reluctantly apparates away.

 

[With the sharp pop that'd amused you endlessly as a child.]

 

Death is before you, and despite all the planning, the quiet goodbyes and the not so quiet goodbyes, surprise washes over you, because this death, cold though it maybe, is not brutal. Instead it surronds you with tired eyes and a sweet smile and arms that are wide open, and all of a sudden sinking begins to feel rather like flying. 

Sinking feels like the warmth of your brother's laugh as you shoot across the road to the cacophony of barking, it feels like smiling wryly as your cousin gazes at you with embarrassed eyes over your aunts rounded shoulder,  it feels like the rush of warmth that spreads from your chest to the tip of your toes when the pretty lady with the short hair and the nice smile begins to talk about the weather.

Death's lusty embrace has surrounded you, but your body has long since stopped struggling, because for some inexplicable reason, it feels like coming home again, and finding a new home all at once.

Like expectation wrapped in surprise, and you think you're ok with that, because death looks like a mirage of white lillies and cosmos flowers, and the allure of peace is too strong to overcome.


End file.
